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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773932">My Boy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantseagull/pseuds/giantseagull'>giantseagull</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Our Time Cut Short [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Grief, M/M, Mourning, Wakes &amp; Funerals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 08:14:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,179</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24773932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/giantseagull/pseuds/giantseagull</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt's mom died of cancer. Kurt has cancer too, it shows up earlier than expected. He leaves behind his parents and long-time boyfriend, Noah Puckerman. Mostly Noah's speech.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kurt Hummel/Noah Puckerman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Our Time Cut Short [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1853119</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>My Boy</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everything is too bright. Too loud. I shut my eyes again and try to think. </p><p>
  <em>I’m here. I’m alive. I’m twenty-one years old and I am dying. I’m dying.</em>
</p><p>I shake my head. Won’t do me any good to keep thinking like that. I try again.</p><p>
  <em>I’m in a hospital bed. Everyone I love is here with me. I’m not well, but that’s okay. I’m okay.</em>
</p><p>I gave a satisfied little hum. Today is a good day. It’s my mother’s birthday, she would be hitting sixty this year. Does she still think of me like I think of her? But I am not the same eight year old boy she left behind. Has she been watching over me? Did she see me graduate, see me at my premier last Spring, see me get promoted at Vogue? Did she see the first night Noah and I spent together, the first time we fought, the first time we traveled as a couple? Will she remember me when I see her again? I must look horrible right now but I suppose when you get up into the sky no one really cares what you look like. Or maybe everyone is just as bitchy and clique-y up there as we are down here. I don’t know. I’ll find out.</p><p>***</p><p>PUCK'S POV</p><p>Kurt. Kurt <em>fucking</em> Hummel. My boy. My Princess.</p><p>I know he’s hurting so damn much right now. As he has been for the past three years. He thinks I didn’t notice when he cries after we f- sorry, after we “do it”, he cried in the shower, he came home after Vogue with red-rimmed eyes from crying too. I never asked, not after I found out about his mom’s cancer. How it was hereditary. I just held him. I hate him for that. He’ll be leaving me and his dad and Carole and all his damn shiny gold star dreams behind with nothing to hold onto except memories of him. I don’t know how I’ll live now after I’ve lost him, if I’m being honest. Without him, can I ever be Noah again?</p><p>I’m standing in front of this huge sea of black, on this flimsy stage with a tie that’s too tight and shoes that are too loose. Nothing fits me right anymore. It’s as if all my clothes demanded Kurt’s attention in their own little temper tantrum after he died. I haven’t thrown my own yet. I need to be here for Burt and Carole. I seethed at that. <em>How unfair was it that they lost both sons in the same year?</em> I think of Kurt in his last week, how he never said more than a few sentences. How he said my name as he slept. How he told me he loved me for the thousandth time on that dingy hospital bed. He made a right honest man out of me, every time he said it it felt like the first time again. </p><p>“This firework of a boy came into my life when we were freshmen though, we were far from friends. I was one of his regular tormentors, doing dumb shit like slushying him and chucking him into dumpsters. What a fucking dumbass. I kept that shit up for a whole year and he still forgave me. Still don’t know how the hell he did that, how he took the high road on someone who literally used to mop the road with his face. I’m thankful, though. So thankful. I don’t think I would have gotten my act together if not for him. I stopped all that pool cleaning shit and got the hell out of Lima. I’ve got a record deal in LA as of now under the name ‘Puck’. Good habits die hard I guess," 

<em>Chuckle.</em>

"... and that was a hell of a badass nickname. Right now though, I’m in New York. I’ve been here with Kurt since six months back, when Finn died. We used to do long-distance but I said 'fuck it' and came to him here. I wanted to be here when he stops remembering, I wanted to be here when he’s on life support and I wanted to be here to arrange his funeral after he’s gone. He’s planned everything out already anyway, all I have to do is make the phone calls.” </p><p>
  <em>Fucking Princess. Trust him to arrange the whole funeral since he was fifteen.</em>
</p><p>“Kurt.. I know I’ll never be able to say it to your face without being an utter bitch boy and crying my eyes out but I love you so much. I love how you look when you’re curled up asleep on my chest and the morning sun’s shining on your face. I love how you fuss over the tiny things and forget to look at the whole picture. I love hearing you sing in the shower. I love showering with you, too. I love cooking with you and hearing you bitch about cholesterol until I spoon feed you some of whatever the hell I tried to cook. I love seeing you fall asleep at your study table, all spent from the madness of Whatever Week they’re having over at Vogue. I love your voice and if I could, I’d write down every word you ever said and paint the whole damn house with them. Let the whole world know that I was lucky enough to hear you say them to me and have them shit themselves with envy. I was never ashamed of you, of us really. I hope you liked all those parties and mixers I dragged you to when my brand was just picking up. We’d dance and dance till we got kicked out of them and walk home swaying together. Did you ever think it’d end this way? I mean, of course you did. You’d known since you were thirteen. But I really thought it’d be the other way around, Kurt. I thought you’d be the one to attend my funeral, to placate Sarah and my mom, to arrange the flowers at my headstone. Well actually, I thought you’d be one among many McKinley kids to ignore my funeral and bitch about me still. That was before everything, of course.” </p><p>I took a deep breath and scanned the crowd. Burt and Carole. Mercedes. Brittany too. Santana, Artie, Quinn, Mike and Tina. Blaine. That Sebastian dude. Some Warblers whose names I don’t remember. Mr Schue, Miss Pillsbury. Coach Sylvester and Bieste. Judging by their slim-cut suits, NYU friends and Vogue people. </p><p>“This wasn’t how we were supposed to meet again, guys. I mean, I haven’t seen you guys in the flesh more than twice in the past three years. That’s way too fucking long for a bunch of people who faced all sorts of crap together and were each other’s families. But yeah, this wasn’t how we were supposed to meet. We were supposed to have been huddled together on a couch in a few years time, watching him get his first big award on live TV. We’re supposed to see each other at his fashion show, where he releases his first summer line and of course, it’s a big hit. Did you know he wanted to make a line of clothes about us? He wanted to call it ‘My Directions’, I don’t know if he started anything yet but there would have been clothes designed after each and every one of us. By Kurt. God, this is so <em>fucking</em> unfair!”</p><p>Deep breath. Come on Puck deep fucking breathe you need to finish this. For Kurt.</p><p>(How long more would it be for Kurt? Forever, probably.)</p><p>“I could tell you guys everything about him, if you asked. I know what made him laugh and I know why he cried. I knew how to cheer him up and how to bring him back down. I knew all his little habits and stuff he liked, all the things you’d learn after living with someone for three years. Those three years, everyday when he would wake up curled up on top of me and come home and crash on our couch till I pushed him into the shower. Three years where we shared air, traded words and songs. I know this is so damn greedy of me since half of you here haven’t spent that kind of time with him since high school but <em>they weren’t enough</em>. As sappy as it sounds, I don’t think I could have ever had enough of him. He was… the best. He brought light into every room he entered, pushed storm clouds out of the way and commanded attention just by… being there. He liked to watch sad movies, not because he was like, depressed or some shit, he just wanted an excuse to cry, let everything out. After Finn? He parked himself on the couch and watched The Fault in Our Stars for a week straight and told everyone it was Finn’s favourite. Come on, we all know our boy was a Terminator man till the end. The end. Ouch. Too soon? Yeah, definitely.”</p><p>“In that last week, he wasn’t himself anymore. That’s when I knew it was his time. Then, you all got texts asking what you’d like me to tell him and all that. Now we’re here. But yeah, I figured it was his time when the only people he recognized were Burt and Finn. I showed him pictures, told him stories of the good days. His favourite one was our last Nationals together, when we all went to Chicago together. Whenever I told him that story he’d hum the tune to Edge of Glory. Till the end, he was a music boy. I told him about all the crazy things he did in high school, everything he went through. All the parties, competitions, duets, Boys vs Girls, heck, even made sure I told him about Push It ‘cos that was the funniest shit ever. You guys remember Vitamin D? God, we did some crazy shit together. Single Ladies, I Want to Hold Your Hand, Born This Way, <em>I Am the Greatest Star.</em>" I choked. </p><p>“I don't think I’ll ever move on, no. Who knows how long it’ll be till I can look at a fashion magazine without being hit with the realisation that you would never read it? Who knows how long it’ll be till I finally clean out your closet, donate your clothes and take back all my shirts you stole? To go through all your shoes, even those damn Gaga heels. What I know is this : For all of us, everyday in our heads, Kurt Hummel dies. He dies without a song or a stage. He dies in a cold hospital, not knowing who he was anymore. Everyday, his heart stops beating and he closes his eyes forever in my head. Everyday, he leaves me behind. I don’t know when or if we’ll ever be okay after losing you, Kurt. I would give anything just for ten more minutes with you, I’m sure of it. I only need ten minutes to tell you how much I love you, how I will never ever forget you. Kurt, you were a breath of fresh air in my messy, gloomy ass life. You saw me at my lowest yet never pitied me, instead you <em>challenged</em> me. You got me to quit being a dumbass, got my ass through school, pushed me to go to LA and try for a record deal even though that meant I’d be farther away from you. Even when I didn’t believe in myself, you did. You always did. For you, it was never a question that I would make it in LA and be yours forever.”</p><p>“I’m really sorry, Kurt. I broke my promise. Do you remember? That night after Finn’s funeral. We crawled into your bed in Lima, still wearing our stiff black suits and ties. We didn’t say anything for the longest time, didn’t get any sleep that night either. We just… held each other. I only said one thing that night. I told you I’d never leave you alone. But I did. I fucking did. Now you’re all alone in that damn wooden box and you will never speak again. I will never see you again. God, I’ll never wake up to your footsteps in our apartment, I’ll never dance with you again. Kurt, I’m so fucking sorry. I miss you. I really hope everything’s good wherever you are now, ‘cos my guns can’t keep you safe when you’re not here with me. Still. I was so damn lucky to have known you. To have seen your secret side. To have held you, slept with you, lived with you, talked to you, shared the damn <em>air</em> with you. You were my savior, my hero, my boyfriend, my lover, my best thing ever. I love you, Kurt. We should have had so much more time but this is all we get, I guess. I’ll see you again one day, I’ll be missing you till then. Bye, Kurt. Thank you for everything.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading! I've been in a really gray mood for the past few days and writing this out made me feel a bit better. Hope you liked it.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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